


near mint

by liketheroad



Category: Captain America (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Codependency, Grooming, Light Dom/sub, M/M, Possessive Behavior, Post-Captain America: The Winter Soldier, Sharing Clothes
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-01-12
Updated: 2015-01-17
Packaged: 2018-03-07 06:29:20
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 19,498
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3164741
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/liketheroad/pseuds/liketheroad
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Steve Rogers lets his hair down.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> The other week I turned to my ladyfriend as we were watching The Avengers and said, "I want to write a story about Steve's hair." This is that story.
> 
> (With thanks to Rachel and Megan for betaing and/or kindly telling me this doesn't suck. They could, of course, be wrong. ♥ regardless)

Bucky’s always loved Steve more. That’s been his world for as long as he can remember - since the first time he laid eyes on Steve. He’d been sketching on the stoop of his old apartment building in Brooklyn, face drawn in concentration, and Bucky hadn’t been able to look away. Hasn’t been able to look away since, at least not when he’s had any choice in the matter.

It’s the same fucking thing now. Seventy years of blood and ice between them and he still can’t look away from Steve Rogers. 

As soon as Steve started to fall, Bucky started to remember. The longer he’s been awake, the more he has recovered of himself. Of Steve. The ice was what did it, what really kept him down. There was torture, sure. Torture paired with very brutal, very effective brainwashing. There were injections, there was pain and sometimes, even worse, there was pleasure. He did terrible things after worse were done to him. But he remembers. As soon as he gets the chance, as soon as he sees Steve, he remembers.

The serum is in him, too, even if it’s not the same one Steve has, not really. They’re not the same, and even Erskine’s formula would have affected Bucky differently. It’s not the differences that matter. It’s the strength the serum has given both of them, the twisted ways it has allowed them to find each other again. It’s the serum that helps him remember, too. That repairs the damage done to him, beat by beat, the longer he’s away from the ice, the longer he’s with Steve instead of under Hydra’s thumb.

It’d taken him as long as the museum, two weeks of hiding and remembering, before he let Steve find him. He’d stood in front of his own monument, and waited. After two days of waiting, Steve came up behind him, put his hand on Bucky’s shoulder, and whispered his name.

Bucky had waited long enough, and when he turned around, he remembered enough to be able to smile, and most importantly, to nod in answer to the desperate hope buried in Steve’s voice when he said Bucky’s name like it was the most important question he’d ever asked. 

Steve had started to cry right then and there, and Bucky had already remembered enough to be able to hold him while he did.

Now, almost six months later, they’re still stuck in basically the same moment. They do occasionally have to separate, accomplish other things, but even so, Bucky spends as much of his time as possible with his arms around Steve as tight as they can go, and Steve spends as much time as he’ll allow himself breaking down. It’s a shockingly large amount of the time, given that it’s Steve, and he’s never gone easy on himself for a second, at least until now, but that’s okay. Bucky happens to think Steve’s entitled. 

For himself, he’d rather focus on Steve, too. That’s what helps him, that’s what’s always grounded him, given him a reason. He hasn’t forgotten what happened to him, what he’s done. He’s not _right_ , not better, but he’s not different, either. Or if he is, it isn’t enough to change things. Not where they matter. He’s still himself. He knows because he still loves Steve.

Steve loves him, too. Bucky knows that, has always known. There’s nothing new about that, except everything Steve is suddenly willing to do about it. It’s not Bucky that’s different, not about this. It’s Steve who suddenly won’t let go, who catches Bucky looking at him because he is always already looking back. Bucky’s not the one who’s changed, not really. It’s Steve who he doesn’t recognize anymore.

***

Bucky tries to let himself off the hook for not noticing sooner, for not properly processing how Steve’s been acting and what it has to mean. How badly he’s really doing, despite the front he’s clearly been fighting tooth and nail to keep up. 

Letting himself off easy for failing to be what Steve needs has never been Bucky’s strong suit, but raking himself over the coals won’t help Steve any either, so he focuses on damage control here and now. Focuses on getting them to the kind of future he’s always wanted for them - something safer and better than they’ve ever known before, something that starts with the two of them together, unequivocal, and builds up from there. 

Nobody else has noticed either, how far off the edge Steve has really gone, but Bucky doesn’t find that particularly comforting, doesn’t let it ease any of his own guilt about not being there when Steve needed him. It’s his job to notice, to know, and to give what Steve needs, no matter what that is. Nobody else noticed, because nobody else knows what to look for. They’ve never seen Steve happy, not properly, never seen him brazen and cracking jokes and blazing with passion - not just for justice or America or freedom, fuck, but for art and their city, for color and taste, all the little ways Steve always sucked everything he could out of life, trying to stand on his own even while he was leaning on Bucky the whole time. 

Nobody knows how badly Steve’s doing because nobody can tell the difference, they all assume this is just how Steve is, what his life or the serum has made him become, but it’s not true. Bucky knows it’s not. It’s just that he’s the only one who knows, the only one who has a real chance of putting Steve back together. That’s always been what he’s best at, and he’s not going to let what those fucking Hydra assholes did to him change that. Not when Steve is on the line, not when he needs Bucky so badly he’s letting that need bleed all over both of them.

Bucky doesn’t blame him, doesn’t mind. He’ll take all this on and more, whatever it takes to return Steve to himself, to both of them. All those years alone, of course Steve isn’t doing alright, of course he’s on the brink of losing himself completely. He’s always had Bucky looking after him, until he didn’t, and neither of them have ever been very good at being alone. 

Of the two of them, Steve was always better, always stronger and more sure of himself, despite how their appearances, their reputations, might have suggested otherwise. He loved Bucky, but there were always other things he loved more - his principles and his pride, and maybe, later, Peggy. Bucky never begrudged Steve that, truly didn’t mind coming second, not when it was Steve. Steve’s heart is the strongest and best part of him, always has been, and any amount of love from Steve was better and more than Bucky could hope for from someone else. So he held on, took what he could get, and was happy about it. Was grateful.

But now... Now Steve reaches out for him like he’s afraid Bucky will disappear if he’s not holding on with all his strength. Now Steve’s eyes search for him in every room, every moment. Now, stripped of everything that Steve’s allowed to define him for so long, with no mission and no war to fight, there’s just the two of them left, and Bucky finally knows what it’s like to be the center of Steve’s world in return. 

It’s a responsibility, a great and demanding purpose, and Bucky is ready for it. He’s not well, he’s not the cocky and carefree boy he once was, not the same person who first fell in love with Steve or even the same person who fought for him, with him, during their first war, but no matter what else has been burned away, his love for Steve is stronger than ever, and he doesn’t care what he has to do, who he has to be, just so long as he’s what Steve needs.

***

Bucky starts small. Steve’s whole never-back-down mentality applies to fights ranging from the petty to the profound, and confronting him directly about shit never fucking works. Especially when it comes to taking care of himself, asking for what he needs, recognizing he deserves it. Bucky settles for needling him instead, little jabs that distract Steve at the same time as they coax him in the direction Bucky knows he needs to go. It’s always been a system that’s worked between them, and he can usually manage to conceal what he’s doing from Steve long enough for it to work. 

This time, he waits until Steve’s in what passes for a good mood for him these days, as relaxed as he can be up in Stark’s ridiculous tower, always waiting for something to go wrong, for someone to come and try and take Bucky away. 

Bucky makes sure Steve is sitting down, comfortable and preoccupied with his own thoughts, and then calls out lazily from across the living room, “That’s a stupid fucking haircut, by the way.”

Steve looks up, surprised and maybe offended, but then Bucky smirks at him, and his surprise turns into a laugh. The laughter dies fast, unfortunately. Bucky keeps right on looking at him, wanting the laughter back, and Steve runs his hand over his stupid spiky modern hair, quickly growing self-conscious under Bucky’s naked scrutiny. 

He starts to say, “I was just...” but then trails off as he continues to card his fingers through his hair, getting more anxious with each stroke.

Bucky’s smile softens as he fills in the gaps, finishing the thought Steve couldn’t - he was just trying to blend in. Trying to fit, to be normal. It’s always been something Steve’s wanted, shot for, never seeming to realize that he’s so much better than that, not understanding that there’s no point in trying to be normal when you’re already extraordinary. The serum just made that worse - Steve’s sense of inadequacy, his refusal to accept that he’s enough, was already enough, just on his own. The attention people paid him after he changed just made Steve withdraw into his own insecurities more, and Bucky hates how much time Steve felt that way when Bucky wasn’t around to do anything about it.

Well, he’s here now, and he can make up for lost time. “It makes you look like a real asshole,” Bucky says, grinning again, and Steve’s anxious fussing stops instantly, a grumpy glare replacing his self-consciousness. 

“Your little bun is no goddamn better,” Steve fires back, after a bit too long, but he looks so proud of himself for trying to rile Bucky in return that Bucky laughs, delighted and not the slightest bit convinced.

He’s seen Steve watching him put up his hair, seen the want in his eyes when he lets it fall down at night, curling just below his shoulders now. Steve wants his hands in that hair, Bucky knows it for fucking certain, and for that reason alone he has no plans to cut it. Steve though - his whole look needs work. This camouflage of modernity Steve’s trying to clothe himself in is bullshit, and his clothes are too fucking tight besides. Bucky wants loose fitting pants and bland button-up shirts keeping Steve nondescript, keeping him Bucky’s. People never bothered to notice Steve before, and Bucky would just as soon they stop noticing him now. 

If he thought it was other people Steve needed, their touch, their attention, that would be one thing. But Steve needs _him_ , has made that abundantly clear by the way he’s so obviously been in a floundering freefall since waking up in a future without Bucky in it, and so it’s up to him to fix this. Steve doesn’t have to go back to being exactly the way he was before the serum, before the war, but he’s damn well going to be as happy as he was then, more so, if Bucky can manage it. 

He’s motivated, he’s skilled, and he lobs a hairbrush at Steve expertly, hitting him in the chest and saying, “Run a comb through it at least, you look like you just woke up,” and then hides his smile as Steve stares down at the brush wordlessly for a few long moments before getting up, slow and steady on his feet, and walking into the bathroom, brush in hand. 

When Steve comes back out of the bathroom sometime later, his hair is damp and lying flat, still a little too short to look how it used to, but better, close. Maybe it’s not the hair that makes him look more like his old self, though, Bucky reflects, watching him more closely. Maybe it’s the small, settled smile on Steve’s face, the once familiar ease in his movements as he comes to sit beside Bucky in the oversized lounger he’s curled up in. 

Steve takes the arm Bucky raises above him as an invitation, tucking himself against Bucky’s side, even though he’s too big for that to really be comfortable for either of them. Steve’s neck is going to get sore if they stay like this, so they won’t, but just for right now, Steve’s smiling against Bucky’s shoulder, and he breathes easy, knowing they’re both exactly where they’re supposed to be. 

***

The next morning, Steve comes out of the bathroom with a towel around his waist and his bangs spiked back up in contrived disarray.

Bucky pins him with a disappointed look that has Steve raising a defensive hand over his hair, not quite touching the tips, and saying, “This is the style now!” 

Bucky snorts. Steve’s never cared about style - that was always Bucky. The reason Steve used to wear his hair the way he did back in the day wasn’t because it was fashionable; he wore it that way because Bucky liked how it looked on Steve, and told him so enough times that even Steve believed him. He was the only one giving Steve compliments like that before, and while that hurt his credibility some, Bucky always made up for it with sheer persistence. 

It worked in the past, anyway, so Bucky shrugs a little and says, “Looked better before,” with enough heat and challenge to the words that he’s almost afraid he’s pushed too far, accidentally gotten himself into a stubbornness contest with Steve Rogers - the very definition of a futile endeavor - but then Steve’s sagging, shoulders drooping and he’s turning back around into the bathroom, first with resignation, but then with purpose. 

Bucky follows him in there, oversees Steve as he rinses the gel out of his hair as best he can and then combs it down so it falls flatter, swooping to the left side of his face like it always used to before. It doesn’t look quite right - it’ll have to grow out some for that - but that’s okay. Steve’s smiling at him in the bathroom mirror, and Bucky’s smiling back.

They’ve got time. 

***

Steve doesn’t like bullies, but he does like orders. Likes obeying, likes _serving_ , always has. Bucky figured that out about him after only a few years of friendship, and has been using it to both of their advantage ever since.

***

“Draw me a fucking picture,” Bucky tries next. 

Steve blinks at him from across the breakfast table. Bucky stares back, grin sharp edged and challenging. 

“Of what?” Steve says skeptically. Bucky can practically hear his insecurities spinning from across the table, the excuses. It’s been so long. He’s rusty. He has no ideas.

Too fuckin’ bad. Bucky hasn’t seen Steve pick up a drawing pencil since they’ve been reunited, and he knows it’s bad for Steve. Drawing is his stress reliever, something that doesn’t have to do with fighting, something he was good at before he became Captain America. Working out, going for runs, sparring - none of that will do what drawing can for Steve, none of that can unlock the feelings he’s killing himself by trying to hold inside. 

So Bucky shrugs, indifferent to Steve’s mounting apprehension, and says, “Draw me. I’m a work of art already, it’ll give you a leg up,” and then crows internally when Steve laughs. 

It’s not his sad, self-deprecating chuckle, the one Bucky hears most often in this new life and time. It’s Steve’s real laugh, his asshole laugh, his I’ll-show-you laugh. Bucky settles back more comfortably in his chair, shovels a forkful of eggs into his mouth, and watches Steve watching him, raising a hand triumphantly in the air when Steve breaks first, scurrying off to dig through his stuff until he comes back with a determined look in his eyes and a pad of paper and set of pencils in his hand. 

Steve stands over him imperiously, repositioning Bucky until he’s where Steve wants him, and then sits back down at his own seat with a stern, “Don’t move.”

It’s a struggle to keep his lips from twitching up into a smile, but other than that, it’s an order Bucky is more than happy to obey. 

***

Bucky starts picking Steve’s outfits for him after the fifth straight day Steve wears his hair like Bucky told him to without Bucky having to prompt him first. 

Steve takes to it better than he used to when they were younger, less prone to even token resistance, more quick to give Bucky anything Steve thinks he might like. Bucky knows Steve still gets excited every time Bucky makes his own choices, and making them for Steve just doubles that, reassures them both that they’re still who they are, at least when it comes to each other.

They still work, they still fit, and each time Steve puts on an article of clothing Bucky picked out for him, they both get a little more comfortable in their own skins.

***

Steve has nightmares that are worse even than Bucky's, which is saying something. Bucky's bad dreams are about before, about the things he's done and the things that were done to him. Steve's dreams are more current, all about losing the now they share to some nebulous, nightmarish future where Steve is alone again. Where Bucky is taken from him, disappearing some place Steve finally can't follow.

He always wakes up screaming, desperately reaching out for Bucky and calling his name. Hard as that is to take, it's worse once Steve is fully awake, aware enough to be ashamed of himself. When offered sympathy and understanding, Steve always balks, saying that if Bucky can manage to make it through the night without waking them up crying, he should be able to, too. 

It's stupid to compare, to compete over who's more entitled to their scars, inside and out, but Bucky knows better than to try and coddle Steve, to comfort him directly. When he's in a mood like that, scared and angry about it, Steve usually just needs to be given something to do. Give him a task, trust Steve to complete it, and he can usually take care of the rest on his own.

This particular morning, Bucky stays in bed while Steve gets up and paces, waiting to see if Steve will tire himself out. He doesn't, so Bucky stretches languidly against the still warm sheets of their bed and says, "Make me breakfast," while waiving a lofty hand in Steve’s direction. 

Feeding Bucky is always something Steve is happy to do, especially now, and it works like a fucking charm. Bucky's words propelling Steve into the kitchen at the same time as his whole stance and demeanour relaxes, anxiety slipping into peaceful compliance.

They have a floor to themselves, loft-like and open, and Bucky can see Steve the whole time, watches him dig around the fridge with his hands folded behind his head, still propped up luxuriously on several pillows. 

“Make it good, Rogers,” he says, biting back a smile, even though Steve’s back is turned, and he can’t see the grin Bucky is struggling to keep off his face. The razor edged satisfaction. “Waffles. _And_ bacon.” The more complicated, the better. Bacon is finicky and Steve has very strong opinions about the correct amount of crispiness that must be reached before serving it. Their waffle iron is probably as old as they are, certainly as temperamental. More than enough complications for Steve to lose himself to. 

As expected, Steve just nods, murmuring, “Whatever you like, Buck,” mostly to himself as he starts gathering the necessary ingredients. 

The nightmare isn’t forgotten; Bucky’s not stupid enough to think that. The fears driving dreams like it aren’t gone either, too strong to be banished by banter and sunlight, but making Steve take care of him has always been Bucky’s surest way of getting Steve to look after himself, and keeping Steve busy is always a good first step. It won’t shut off his fears completely, but it’ll give himself something else to think about, and in a half hour or so, Bucky will be presented with a delicious home-cooked breakfast, and whether Steve knows it yet or not, he’ll be eating half of it. 

It’s not much, hardly the cure-all he’d like to offer Steve, but it’s what they have to work with, and they’ve started their days with worse things than waffles and a little lingering trauma. It won’t be enough forever, but it’s okay for right now. 

They don’t have to be better, not all the way, not when it’s just the two of them. They can afford to be a little broken, fragile and flawed, just so long as they’re together.

***

Bucky stopped dressing in combat boots and leather after the first month of getting Steve and his memories back. He shaves regularly, recognizing himself more when he does. He always knows where his weapons are, close at hand, but stops actually carrying any on him. The first time Steve hugged him and didn’t feel the weight of a gun or knife between them, he cried, and Bucky held him, silently vowing to never carry again, not unless Steve asked him to.

He keeps his hair long because he and Steve both prefer it that way, but that’s not the only reason. The longer Bucky’s hair gets, the more of a liability it is, increasingly impractical in a combat situation, and the more Bucky sheds outward signs of being the Winter Soldier, being a weapon, the happier Steve is. The easier he breathes. 

These days, Bucky smells of vanilla bean body wash instead of gunpowder, and wears soft, loose fitting clothes - sweat pants and worn cotton t-shirts, thick knit sweaters and warm wool socks - regardless of the temperature outside. They rarely venture out of the tower, anyway, and he likes being cozy, he likes being warm. Pampering himself invites Steve’s smiles and his touch, and that’s more than enough reason for Bucky. 

***

Steve’s been styling his hair and dressing how Bucky’s instructed for almost six weeks when he comes to Bucky with a pair of scissors. 

Bucky’s on the couch, reading Jules Verne, and Steve was supposed to be in the kitchen making them lunch. Bucky was promised bagels with cream cheese and split pea soup, favorites from their childhood, and the scissors Steve hands him instead leave a fair amount to be desired. 

Bucky takes the scissors from Steve anyway, giving him an encouraging smile.

Steve responds by huffing a sigh and saying, “It’s not growing out right.”

Bucky squints up at him, and after a few moments of consideration, he can see what Steve means. His hair is growing, sure, but all over, and that’s not quite right. It needs to be longer on top, in the bangs, but Steve always kept it short and neat otherwise, especially at the back.

“You’re right,” he says, after taking Steve in from all angles, getting up and turning his head left and right, enjoying the way Steve just stands there and lets Bucky move him, simple but intoxicating intimacy and trust passing between them. “Needs work,” he continues, “but I don’t think scissors are the right tool for the job. Where’s your razor?”

Steve looks at him when Bucky asks the question, but he doesn’t seem all there, exactly, staring at Bucky muzzily, blinking like he can’t quite focus. Bucky’s hands are on Steve, one cradling his left cheek and the other cupping the back of his head, and he moves that hand down Steve’s neck, digging his thumb into the base of Steve’s neck, right where it meets his shoulder. 

“Steve,” he says, gentle tone to go along with the persistent touch, that spark of pain that brings Steve back to himself, straightening up and facing Bucky squarely, eyes clear and full of awareness. Once he’s sure Steve’s with him, Bucky just says, “Razor, come on,” and then leads Steve into the bathroom.

He doesn’t really understand why Steve came out here to him with the scissors, anyway - it’s gonna make a mess either way, whatever they use, and it’ll be a hell of a lot easier to clean the hair up off the tile of the bathroom than the plush carpet that covers most of the rest of their floor. He tries to figure it out while Steve runs his head under the faucet of the bathroom sink and stands in front of the mirror, waiting for Bucky to start cutting his hair, but can’t come up with anything that makes sense. 

Bucky plugs the razor into the outlet above the sink, deciding not to worry about it. Steve’s not exactly thinking clearly these days, not always at his sharpest or best, so maybe he just didn’t think through the strangeness of wandering into their living room when he was supposed to be fixing them lunch and handing Bucky a sharp and potentially deadly implement to do with whatever he saw fit. 

Here and now, Steve’s jaw is clenched tight, his eyes bright as he stares at the reflection of himself, and Bucky, in the mirror. Bucky wants to kiss his shoulder, so he does. 

“We should probably take your shirt off,” Bucky says just as he thinks it, and Steve laughs.

Bucky’s toes curl, just a little. He still hasn’t gotten sick of that sound, probably never will. He can admit that what he likes best is being the cause of it, but he’ll take Steve’s happiness however he can get it. 

“Oh, should we?” Steve sing-songs, voice light and teasing.

Bucky does a mental somersault of happiness, knowing he’s the reason for the redness in Steve’s cheeks, the laughter still clinging to his words. 

“Yes, we should,” he says with as much dignity and authority as he can muster. “We’re keeping this professional, okay, pal? Shirt off, but you’re putting a towel around your neck so it’s easier to clean up. I’d say a sheet, because it’d probably fit better, but we’ll make do.”

Steve does as he’s asked, quick and wordless now, and then presents himself to Bucky proudly, arms outstretched, chest bare. The towel is knotted loosely around Steve’s neck and Bucky closes his eyes for a moment so he can regroup, focus on the task at hand.

He turns the razor on, nods at Steve to turn around, facing the mirror again, and then gets to work. He’s never done this before, except to himself, a lifetime or two ago, but it’s easy. It’s so easy. It’s him and Steve, and Steve is standing perfectly still, letting Bucky do whatever he wants, letting him decide. He does a good job, because he wants Steve to look good for him, and because he likes this, doesn’t want it to end too fast. He’s careful, he’s thorough, making sure not to leave any ragged, uneven spots, keeping a vision of Steve’s old hair clear in his mind the whole time he works, getting it as close to back then as he can. Steve still has some growing out to do, but it looks a lot better by the time Bucky’s done.

Bucky takes his time cleaning Steve off after, too, untying the towel and dumping as much hair as he can in the trash, carefully brushing off the leftover bits still clinging to Steve’s bare skin, fingers tracing lines down Steve’s shoulders and back just to feel him shiver. When he steps back and tells Steve to open his eyes and see the damage, Steve listens instantly. His whole face lights up when he sees the same thing Bucky does looking back at him in the mirror - Steve looks exactly like himself, now, maybe for the first time since they found each other again. 

Bucky thinks he might cry or something if this keeps up, him and Steve just beaming at each other stupidly in the mirror, so he coughs a little and says, “Hair looks good, too bad about the face, though,” and then jumps back immediately to duck the blow Steve aims for his ribs.

Steve chases him out of the bathroom, shirtless and not at all sorry, not worried about scaring Bucky or setting him off, and not for the first time, Bucky realizes it’s not the hair at all. It’s just the smile on his face that makes Steve seem so familiar again suddenly, the vindictive glee in his laughter when he finally manages to press Bucky to a wall and demand he take it back.

Steve’s never been able to pin him before, never been able to _make_ Bucky do something, but now that he can, he almost never does, and Bucky finds himself liking it, wanting it more. 

It’s too much to think about right now, so instead of pushing back more to see what Steve’ll do when he misbehaves, Bucky apologizes, praises Steve’s face and laughs when Steve punches him anyway, cutting him off halfway through the love poem he’s started spontaneously composing to Steve’s cheekbones on the spot. Maybe he’ll try getting Steve to hold him down some more later, to boss him around. For now it’s nice to be the one in charge, to know what to say, at least enough to fool Steve, to make them both feel like they know what they’re doing. 

It’s an act, somewhat, the confidence Bucky’s been putting into things so far, but the only thing he’s really faking is a lack of surprise when Steve actually listens to him these days. Not like before, when he fought Bucky at every turn, but easy, warm and agreeable, eager to please. The shock of that is still taking its time wearing off, and he’s working hard not to let that show, but everything else about this is real, it’s who Bucky is, who he’s always wanted to be. 

As long as he’s known him, Bucky’s wanted to keep Steve safe, to make him happy, and he doesn’t care what had to happen to get them here, he honestly doesn’t. It was bad, yeah, and he hates every second of their time apart for what it cost Steve, what it cost the whole fucking world, but Bucky doesn’t care for himself. He’s got Steve back, he’s got Steve _listening_ to him and letting him take care of him, letting him treat Steve like he’s always thought Steve deserved, like fucking gold, and maybe it makes him a monster, a terrible person, but he’d go through all of it again, everything he’s done, everything he’s suffered, to be right here, right now, with Steve. 

Especially if Steve’s going to keep looking at him like this, like he’s so fucking glad Bucky’s here, like he feels exactly the same. The two of them against the world, that’s always been who they are, it’s always been what they’re best at, standing together, and whatever hell they’ve had to go through, it’s worth it for moments like this, pressed close on the top of the world, breathing together with their hearts in their throats and laughter in their eyes.

***

Bucky likes his metal arm. He’s grown quite _attached_ to it, as he once told Steve, and still cherishes the memory of the way Steve’s flustered chuckle turned into horrified peals of laughter when Bucky’d winked at him and said, “pun intended, pal.” It’d been one of the first times he made Steve laugh after letting Steve find him, and it’s one of Bucky’s favorite new memories. 

So, he likes the arm. On the surface, it’s a symbol of what Hydra did to him, a visible reminder of everything his body has been used for, made into, but it’s a part of him, too, and most importantly, it makes him strong. His arm was strong enough to pull Steve from the Potomac without struggle, and it’ll be strong enough to help him protect Steve if anyone tries to take Bucky from him. 

Steves likes it, too, and when he gets over feeling guilty about that fact, it’ll be a positive as well. His eyes always follow Bucky’s hands when he talks, often just when he’s completing simple tasks also, quick and deft, and Bucky knows from the look on Steve’s face when he watches Bucky that he sees something there he likes. Sees a lot of things he likes. Bucky’s not doing much about that knowledge, not yet, but he likes knowing it’s there, desire and awareness passing between them without shame. For now, it’s enough that Steve never shies away from Bucky’s touch, no matter what hand he’s using, that he arches into Bucky’s palm when he cups Steve’s face in the mornings, smiling and reassuring them both that Bucky still knows who he is, who Steve is. 

The only downside to the arm, really, is that it occasionally requires maintenance, and for now, that means seeing Stark. Bucky’s still on the fence about all members of the human race who aren’t currently named Steve, but Stark’s especially hard to take, most days. He’s loud and moves too much, he insults Steve and Steve snarks back, but never as much as he probably would if he didn’t think they owed Stark so much for letting them stay here, for keeping Bucky secret and safe, especially in those frantic, brutal first few weeks.

Mostly, Stark’s just annoying - even if he does always shut that fucking AI off when Bucky’s around, knowing it spooks him - and Bucky hates relying on him, or anyone other than Steve, for anything. Especially something as important as his left arm. He needs that for hugging Steve, and possibly killing people. If necessary. 

It’s important enough to put up with Stark, at least, and so when Bucky’s arm starts acting up, twitching at random intervals and clenching into a fist when he’s trying to pick up a fork, Bucky troops down to Stark’s lab with Steve in tow to get himself checked out. 

Stark’s in there with Banner, both of them bent over some doohickey Bucky might otherwise find interesting, if it wasn’t Stark, and Steve clears his throat politely to alert them to their presence. 

Banner waves and stops working, and Stark does too, but he does so with considerably more showmanship, spinning around on his stool dramatically and then doing an actual double take when he sees Steve. Stark glances away from Steve to Bucky, and then back to Steve.

“Is this a cry for help?” Stark asks, sounding roughly seventy percent serious. He waves up and down at Steve. He looks to Banner for support, who just shrugs, hiding a smile and going back to work. Stark looks at Steve again. “It seems like a cry for help.”

Steve looks to Bucky first, and then glances down at himself, just a little concerned, self-conscious. He’s wearing khakis today, loose enough that you can barely appreciate Steve’s ass, and a blue plaid shirt, tucked into the pants and layered underneath an old brown cardigan Bucky’s pretty sure used to belong to him back in the forties. It’s creepy how many of their old belongings were being stored in the Smithsonian, although maybe it was even creepier of him to steal that stuff back before moving into Avengers Tower with Steve. The sweater is too small for Steve, big like he is now, but Bucky likes that, the casual way it suggests Steve’s in something of Bucky’s and not his own. Normally he’d prefer Steve in something looser, but having him in Bucky’s clothes accomplishes the same goal. 

In short, Steve looks amazing - fully covered and projecting ‘hands off’ in both his attire and expression - and Bucky loves him. 

“It’s not a cry for help,” Bucky says, answering for Steve and getting a blinding smile for his efforts. He rarely speaks in front of other people, has spoken a total of six words, prior to now, to anyone other than Steve and the deprogramming expert Natasha found for them when Steve first brought Bucky in. Even then, one word answers to questions about his threat potential are all he’s been willing to verbalize so far, and he knows Steve is probably crying on the inside about this development.

Stark seems oblivious to Steve’s silent joy, although he does smirk a little at Steve’s fervent but woefully delayed, “Yeah,” backing Bucky up. 

Pleased as he is to have made Steve happy, Bucky is still itching to get out of here, to go back upstairs to their floor where he and Steve can be alone, so in the interests of moving this show along, he sits himself down in his new operating chair - never his favorite part of coming down here, worse even than having to deal with Stark - and tries to focus on nothing but Steve until he’s sure he isn’t going to have a panic attack. 

Steve has to come hold his right hand for awhile until his breathing returns to normal, but it works, enough that Bucky can still hold it together when Steve lets him go, backing off so Stark can do his magic. Science. Whatever.

It’s boring, just sitting there, and Bucky hates the feeling of helplessness that comes with having his arm worked on. To distract himself, he starts idly pondering whether or not Steve would find it funny for him to pretend to strangle Stark with the arm he’s currently repairing, and Stark must look at his face while he’s still thinking about it, because he takes a sudden half step away from Bucky - not frightened, but certainly suspicious. 

Bucky lets the impassive mask he’s been wearing fall off his face, mouth curling up into a wide, vicious grin, and from behind Stark’s back, Steve lets out a surprised burst of laughter, delighted despite himself at the mild but sincere, “Jesus,” Stark issues in response to Bucky’s feral smile. 

Steve gives Bucky a goofy little thumbs up, and Bucky settles back more comfortably in his chair, content now to lie back and let Stark work. He does so silently, speedily, and doesn’t mention Steve’s wardrobe choices again. 

***

They weren’t like this before, Bucky knows. He remembers that, too. They weren’t together, weren’t even friends helping each other out. Bucky wanted them to be - wanted anything Steve would allow, any amount of closeness - and he knows Steve knew. Back then, Bucky never bothered to hide it, at least not from Steve, but he never exactly _did_ anything about it, either. He always hoped just letting his desire and his love for Steve show would be enough, but it never was. There was always something that got in the way. Something else catching Steve’s attention and holding it away from Bucky - his art, the war, even the dim but determined vision of finding the right partner, settling down with the perfect dame and living a quiet, normal life. 

Steve wanted him back then, too, even loved him, despite all that, but it was never enough. It hurt at the time, still does in a way, but it doesn’t matter, not anymore. It’s enough now. 

***

Steve keeps growing out his hair, keeps styling it the way he used to, the way Bucky likes, and he keeps drawing, too. In most of their spare time, that’s what they do. Steve draws, Bucky sits, offering the occasional encouragement or insult, whichever he thinks Steve needs most. Bucky likes the stillness of the ritual, the quiet, and he’s always enjoyed watching Steve work hard on something they both know he can do well. It’s an excuse to keep close, too, another reason to stay within eyesight of each other. Bucky was always like that, wanting to know where Steve was, to keep eyes on him, and now, after everything, that’s how Steve is, too. 

Time eases and slows down, drifting further and further away from the hectic, frenzied days of Bucky’s initial return, his recovery. Most often, it’s just him and Steve, alone together. Stark and Pepper are in and out, sometimes in Malibu, sometimes in New York, sometimes half way across the world. Various other members of the Avengers come and go, checking in, saying hello, sharing meals. Occasionally, they fight crime. Aliens. Robots. Whatever needs fighting. 

It hasn’t gotten serious enough to pull Steve back in, away from Bucky’s side, but Bucky thinks he’ll be okay with that when it has to happen. He’s not so sure about Steve, but they’ll get there. For now, Bucky is content with this - living together at the top of New York City, spending their days quietly, safely, trying to put themselves back together. 

Steve’s still struggling visibly, although no one else really seems to notice, but that’s getting a little better, day by day. The more Bucky takes charge, the more Steve seems to trust he’s really there, that he’ll stay. The more he insults Steve, the more he laughs. Real laughter, from deep in his belly, not the brittle, forced cheerfulness he puts on for strangers, for almost everyone but Bucky. The more Bucky compliments him, the more Steve reminds Bucky of his old self, flustered and cranky and secretly pleased. He starts teasing back more and more, even roughhousing with Bucky off and on when he’s not paying enough attention to him, which Bucky sometimes does on purpose, just to get that reaction out of Steve. 

Bucky keeps all of it coming - the orders, the teasing, the praise - and watches Steve come back to life under his instruction, his touch. Drawing is what helps most, that focus, that outlet, and by the time Steve’s hair is the right length again, falling exactly as Bucky remembers it across his forehead, longer than he’s worn it since before the war, Steve’s sketched several dozen doodles and has produced at least three masterpieces. 

All of them are of Bucky.

***

They don’t talk about it. They reminisce about all kinds of things - swapping embarrassing stories and getting rosy-eyed and nostalgic about the old haunts and old tunes, sharing grimaces about boiled food and rations - but they don’t talk about the fact that Steve never used to tell Bucky he loved him, but now he does, many times over, every day.

They don’t talk about the fact that Steve didn’t used to put his hands on Bucky’s face and press their foreheads together each night, telling Bucky he loves him one more time before curling up around him as they both fall asleep at the end of every day. They just do it. Steve reaches for him, and Bucky is there, every fibre of him straining to meet Steve’s hands.

They don’t talk about the fact that their friendship used to be one way, and now it’s another. They don’t talk about it, but they don’t have to. It doesn’t matter that Bucky always used to try to get Steve to listen to him, to take care of himself, but almost never did. He does now. He listens, he takes care. 

That’s enough - it’s everything. Everything Bucky’s ever wanted, more, and they don’t have to talk about it for it to be true, for it to be real. It just is. 

They are.

***

Even with Steve starting to dress like he’s in a vintage flashback at all times, nobody other than Stark really says anything about it until Natasha comes back.

She watches them subtly through a shared breakfast, the Avengers plus Pepper and Bucky assembling in Banner’s kitchen and consuming their combined weight in pancakes and sausages. Sam’s there too, in from DC for a visit to coincide with Natasha’s. Steve’s pink and happy with all the people he loves gathered safely in one room, and Bucky deals with him indulgently, badgering him into eating more and rolling his eyes fondly at Steve’s sarcastic jabs in response to Bucky’s mollycoddling. 

Natasha takes all this in, and Bucky lets her, staunchly refusing to act any differently just because someone’s finally paying attention.

When the meal’s over and Natasha pulls Steve to the side, quietly asking if they can talk alone for a minute, Steve’s eyes find Bucky’s right away, a question there that Bucky answers with a slight nod. Steve smiles, quick and private, and then makes a complicated hand motion behind his back as they’re walking away, letting Bucky know which room Steve plans to lead Natasha into and where to set up himself if he wants to listen in.

He does, of course, and he tails them with all the skill and stealth Hydra burned into him, coldly satisfied every time the talents he was given to hurt are used to help Steve instead. Natasha’s good, maybe as good as him - they’re tied as far as Bucky’s concerned, one for him in Iran, one for her in DC - but she’s not expecting to be followed here, not expecting Steve to be in on it, either, and Bucky is able spy on them undetected. He flattens himself against the entrance of bathroom across the hall from the study where Steve brought Natasha, shoulders taught and eyes narrowed, watching them through the slit in the door Steve himself left open. 

He gets there in time to hear Natasha say, almost kindly, “-- dressing like it’s still the forties isn’t actually going to solve anything, you get that, right?” Bucky winces, more from the gentle tone than the implication of what she’s saying. “It’s not going to bring him back, not the way he was. It’s not going to make him change.”

Steve bristles at that, raising up to full height, his righteous anger adding inches like it always does, “That’s not - Bucky isn’t the problem.”

Bucky can hear the silent _I am_ loud and clear, and wonders if Natasha can too. 

She seems to take the protest seriously, at least, even if she doesn’t understand the force behind it, and says, “So what is it, then? Why the sudden makeover?”

Steve fusses with his bangs, smoothing them out a little and tucking the longest strands behind his ear. It’s a nervous tick he hasn’t been able to employ in awhile, but it seems to calm him, and to Bucky, that moment of comfort by itself is worth all the effort it took to get them here.

“It’s not about trying to go back to how everything was before,” Steve starts, the kind of tone that promises he’s working his way into full-on inspirational speech-mode. “Especially not for Bucky. I don’t want to turn back time, but I don’t want to lose everything that’s made us who we are, either. It wasn’t all bad, you know? We weren’t. We can get some of that back without pretending things will go back to being exactly as they were.”

Natasha makes a thoughtful sound, calculated and unconvinced, and Bucky has to admit he’s impressed with how well she’s handling Steve. Interrogations were never Bucky’s area, but he can appreciate good work when he sees it. 

Steve’s too fired up to notice or care that he’s been handled, just puffs himself up more, and says, “I’ve been trying to be the person - the symbol - I’m supposed to be for so long I barely remember who I actually am anymore. The world wants me to be Captain America, some perfect chiseled hero, but Bucky... He’s always liked me just the way I am. Long before the serum, and everything that’s come with it, Bucky cared about me, thought I was worth something, and I like myself best when I’m around him, always have. There’s more to me than just the shield and Bucky’s never stopped trying to show me that. That’s all this is. Bucky’s helping me to remember, giving me the courage to take back some of what we both lost.”

“Steve,” Natasha says softly, not quite an interruption, but close to it. Certainly a request that he stop, and think about what he’s saying, doing. 

She sounds like she’s going to say more, but Steve doesn’t give her a chance, blustering on, “I’m happy, god damn it. Or at least I think I could be. This is making me - it’s the most like myself I’ve felt since SHIELD woke me up. I’m not - I appreciate your concern, but there’s no need for it. I’m fine and Bucky’s... We’re gonna be fine.”

Natasha is turned away from the doorway, and Bucky can’t see the expression on her face, but he imagines there’s a raised eyebrow to match her wry tone when she says, “And what, the retro hair and poorly fitting slacks are just window dressing?”

Steve shrugs, refusing now to look embarrassed, and says, “This is how Bucky likes me to look,” and then curls his hand up, glancing down at his fingernails almost primly. Across the hall, Bucky fights not laugh. 

“He has weird taste, then,” Natasha says, but there’s something like warmth in her voice, although Bucky wouldn’t go as far as to say approval.

It doesn’t matter what reservations she might have, Bucky decides, not when Steve just straightens his shoulder a little, preening he says, “Yeah, I guess he does.” 

***

That about does it for Natasha’s interrogation, and Bucky waits Steve out, knowing he’ll be Steve’s first stop once Natasha’s abandoned him to go find Sam and Barton. 

“Got me all figured out, huh, punk?” Bucky says, when Steve finally comes in, finding Bucky still tucked against the wall. Steve knew he was listening, probably even spoke up so it was easier for Bucky to, so he sees no reason to play coy now. 

Sure enough, Steve doesn’t even flinch. Instead, he smiles at Bucky, reaches out to tug him away from the wall, and then lets his hand linger, still holding onto Bucky’s as he answers, “I guess - now. I didn’t really think about it until...” He shrugs, and doesn’t say anything more, but that’s okay. 

Bucky knows what he means - he didn’t think about what Bucky was doing, didn’t question it, not until he had to defend Bucky to someone else, not until pushed. If Natasha hadn’t pressed, Steve would probably have been content to just keep going along with whatever Bucky said, trusting him enough not to wonder about his motivations, his endgame. 

“You got any problem with what we’ve been doing?” Bucky asks, deciding it’s time he offered Steve an out, just to remind both of them he doesn’t want one. 

Steve shakes his head, quick and certain, and Bucky rewards him with a smile and his fingers, running soothingly through Steve’s hair. It’s soft, and the length feels good under Bucky’s hand. He pets Steve for awhile, just the two of them, standing together in the bathroom, and then pushes Steve out the door, back toward his friends, once he’s deemed Steve calm enough.

Steve calls him a jerk as he stumbles a little on his way through the doorway, and Bucky tells Steve he’s a punk with his arm wrapped firmly around Steve’s waist. 

***

Steve gets restless when Natasha and Sam are both gone again, and rather than talking to him about it directly, Bucky starts sighing a lot while staring out windows and making scrunched, grumpy faces at Steve until he snaps his fingers one afternoon and says, “Buck, let’s go out. A run - or maybe a walk, what do you say?”

Bucky almost replies, “I say you’re too easy,” but that wouldn’t be true, even if it might make Steve laugh. Steve’s the opposite of easy, and always has been. Bucky’s always preferred him that way.

So instead, he shrugs, trying to look uncertain and nervous, like he’s guessing Steve himself feels, and watches Steve’s confidence grow in the face of Bucky’s imagined anxiety. 

It works well enough that they end up taking the subway and then ambling lazily through Central Park, and with that many people around, Bucky’s nerves aren’t quite so imaginary anymore, but Steve’s already holding his hand, grip strong and unbreakable, so that’s alright. Bucky’s not sure which of them is holding on harder, who is comforting who, but it doesn’t matter. 

The sun is shining, they’re together, and if Bucky plays his cards right, soon Steve will be buying him a big pretzel and then stealing most of it. Bucky gives their clasped hands a tug, pulling Steve in the direction of the food carts ahead, and smiles when Steve’s pace quickens to match his, already looking forward to watching Steve lick the salt off his fingers.

***

About a week after Natasha and Sam leave, Stark calls Bucky. They’re only three floors apart, but only Steve and Bucky have access to their elevator code, and Stark’s pretty good at respecting limits, at least once he’s done poking at all of them to see how far they go. 

Steve’s in the shower, and Bucky leaves his perch on the edge of the tub to answer the call. 

Stark says, “Can you come play?” because for all his wealth and genius, he’s essentially a child, at the end of the day. Bucky’s learned that much about Stark, these past few months. 

“No,” Bucky says, without having to think it over. Steve’s shower will be done in five minutes, and while he would be proud of Bucky for making an independent decision and having the confidence to leave their floor and interact with Stark on his own, he also knows Steve would be sad to leave the bathroom and find him gone.

“Pepper’ll be there,” Stark entices, clearly trying to sweeten the pot.

It helps somewhat, but probably not as much as Stark expects or thinks the possibility of basking in Pepper’s presence deserves. Bucky likes Pepper, but only because Steve does. 

Still, Stark sounds hopeful, underneath his trademark obnoxiousness, and Bucky knows he can figure out a way for this to make Steve happy if he plays it right, so he compromises, saying, “Fifteen minutes,” and then hanging up. 

It’s the perfect amount of time - enough for Steve to get out of the shower and let Bucky dry him off, rough and sure, before picking out Steve’s clothes and watching in satisfaction as he puts the clothes on, one thing at a time, always double checking with Bucky before moving on to the next item. When Steve’s dressed, Bucky hugs him and kisses his neck, and Steve settles even more, sagging comfortably against Bucky and letting Bucky hold him up.

All that still leaves Bucky with six minutes to gently break the idea of going upstairs to see Stark and Pepper alone to Steve, soothing him out of the sharp involuntary spiral of panic Steve falls into at the suggestion of being separated, hugging him one last time and getting to Stark with thirty seconds to spare. 

He’s surprised to find Pepper and Stark waiting for him in their lavish living room, and not the lab where he first checked, but is considerably less surprised when Stark opens his arms wide at the sight of Bucky and says grandly, “Buckminster Barnes! The one and only.”

“Stark,” Bucky says, with a repressive glare. 

Pepper smiles and waves. Bucky wishes he had a hat to tip at her, but settles for saying, “Ma’am,” with far less gruffness than he greeted Stark. 

Stark claps his hands together and says, “This is heartwarming. My heart is warmed. Pep, are you feeling the love?”

“Absolutely,” Pepper says, managing to sound sincere, appreciative of Bucky’s efforts, but also like she’s dryly mocking Stark’s entire existence. 

It’s possible Steve isn’t the only reason Bucky likes her. 

“Why am I here?” Bucky asks, when it looks like Stark is gearing up for a completely irrelevant monologue about manners or friendship, Bucky doesn’t even want to know. He’s been away from Steve for four minutes already. 

Pepper and Stark are stretched out together on a long, narrow sofa that’s sleek and modern but also looks incredibly uncomfortable. He’d prefer to stand, get this over with as fast as possible, but when Pepper pats the empty spot beside them, Bucky goes and sits.

They have a laptop out in front of them on the chrome coffee table, and Stark gestures toward it dramatically. “Are you familiar with the internet, Buckminster?”

Bucky looks at the laptop, and back to Stark and Pepper. Stark has an eyebrow raised comically, but Pepper is just giving him an encouraging, low-key smile. Bucky thinks about sighing, but it doesn’t seem worth the effort. 

Instead, he answers, “Yes,” and then just stares at them blankly. The lost, brainwashed puppy-dog look makes Steve sad, so he tries not to use it around him, but Bucky finds it helpful when interacting with most other people. It never hurts to be underestimated, even by people he’s reasonably sure can be trusted. 

He does know about the internet, is annoyed they would think otherwise, but he’s also lost count of how many minutes he’s been away from Steve, so the face is only half an act. His knowledge of 21st Century technology is uneven, but hardly nonexistent. He can hack a complex security system if he needs to for a mission, can drive a car at top speed and fly any number of aircrafts in combat situations, is even reasonably sure he’s captained more than one speed boat in his time, but microwaves were a complete mystery before Steve showed him how to use one, same with coffee makers. He’s used a variety of cell phones to report to his superiors while on a mission or to communicate with his team, but he’d been baffled by the questions marks that kept showing up on his phone when Stark started texting him until Sam explained to both him and Steve what emojis are. 

That’s more information than Stark needs, so Bucky sticks with his initial affirmative and waits for Stark to get to the point.

It’s Stark, so it takes awhile, and Bucky tunes him out as soon as Stark gets to his third reason the internet is “a magical place, Buckminster, just magical,” and then snaps to attention again when he registers Stark saying Steve’s name. “You can go to the internet to buy all kinds of glorious things these days, and luckily for you and Grandpa Nationalism, the weird vintage fetish you two have going on is actually quite popular with kids today, so you can even buy him more of the terrible clothes you insist on dressing him in. Do you see where I’m going with this?”

For Stark, it’s actually shockingly straightforward. Bucky feels like this could have been communicated over a phone call. Maybe a text. There’s probably an emoji for this, right?

“You want me to buy Steve some new clothes,” he answers slowly, like he’s speaking to a confused child, and hopes Stark realizes it’s for his benefit, not Bucky’s own. 

Snark snaps his fingers, “Exactly. Brilliant deduction. I know you’d probably happy to keep rotating those same three shirts and two pairs of pants you clearly stole back from the Smithsonian, which, nice, by the way, but they’re getting maybe a little _too_ old, if you follow me.”

“Immodest,” Pepper clarifies smoothly.

Bucky finds himself impressed with her yet again. He obviously needs to be more careful if she and Stark have both figured out the reason behind Bucky’s outfit choices for Steve. One of them, anyway, and when he thinks about it, they’re frustratingly correct. The pants are getting pretty threadbare, seethrough. It leaves less to the imagination than Bucky’d like. And besides, Steve deserves nice things. Comfortable, modest, nice things that Bucky has picked out for him.

“I’ll consider it,” he says, because that’s as close to a thank you as he’s willing to offer anyone who isn’t Steve, and because he still feels like this could have been said over the phone, or at least with Steve present. It’s not like he doesn’t know why Bucky dresses him the way he does, or why they both like it. 

“That’s great,” Pepper says, and hands him the laptop. “You keep it,” she says, when Bucky just stares at it suspiciously. “Use the Stark card we gave you for anything you want to buy,” she adds, when he frowns. 

Bucky’s standing now, and Stark stands with him, almost looking like he’s going to touch Bucky, reach out and pat his shoulder, maybe. Bucky takes a few steps back just in case, and clutches the laptop to his chest defensively. He can crack it over Stark’s head if need be. 

Stark just puts his hands up, high in the air and away from Bucky, and Bucky nods a little to him and to Pepper before turning on his heels and walking out of the room as quickly as he can without it looking too much like he’s running away.

He rides the elevator back down to his and Steve’s floor, and almost drops the laptop in his haste to hug Steve back when he all but tackles Bucky as soon as the elevator doors open.

“Sorry,” Bucky says, putting the computer down on the floor at their feet and then holding Steve properly, knowing he was gone too long. “It was nothing bad,” he promises, offering the reassurance before Steve has to ask for it. He presses a kiss into Steve’s hair. 

Steve clings to him with all his considerable strength, and it takes a long time for him to be willing to let go. 

“Sorry,” Steve says back, when they finally separate. 

Bucky shakes his head, and touches Steve’s face with both hands. “Want to do some shopping?” 

It’s not the response Steve was expecting, Bucky knows, and his surprised bark of laughter eases the tension bubbling in both of them. 

“Whatever you want, Buck,” Steve says, relaxed and agreeable now.

Bucky plucks the laptop from the floor and leads Steve into their bedroom, settling himself against the headboard and then coaxing Steve into the V of his spread thighs. With Steve tucked up against his chest, they open the computer on Steve’s lap and browse the websites Stark and Pepper bookmarked for them, adding whatever clothes Bucky approves into their cart. It’s an oddly soothing way to spend the morning, and somewhere along the line Bucky realizes that maybe that was the point, or at least part of it. 

He doesn’t particularly want to go out and embrace this strange new world he and Steve have found themselves in, is less enamored with the idea of the future now that he’s living it, but even so. It’s not all bad, not all dangerous or a threat. 

Steve mutters something about retail therapy at one point, laughing quietly to himself when he sees the totals for their purchases, but Bucky doesn’t worry about what that means, decides not to care whether or not Pepper and Stark planned for this to happen, to leave him and Steve smiling and cuddled close over the computer after spending more money than they ever could have contemplated back when. 

It’s not back when, not anymore, and that has its upsides, Bucky knows that. This is their second chance, their shot to be together like they never could be before, and Bucky will use whatever advantages this time and place offers to keep Steve with him, even if it’s something as simple as using the internet to provide for Steve, to ensure he has everything he needs without ever having to leave Bucky’s side. 

***

The clothes they ordered for Steve come in waves, and Bucky looks everything over before giving any of it to Steve to wear. Some things don’t meet his standards, not when he sees them actually on Steve, and Steve always smiles agreeably when Bucky tells him to change. Most of the time, Bucky lays Steve’s clothes out for him on their bed in the morning so they’re waiting for him when he comes out of the shower, but other times, Steve will just stand naked in front of their shared closet and wait for Bucky to choose things for him like that, holding shirts up to his flushed skin and debating colors and fabric choices. 

His primary focus is clothing Steve modestly, conservative cuts and understated tones, but it's not as if Steve doesn't look still look fantastic, regardless of what possessive care Bucky takes in dressing him. Steve's a knockout no matter what he's wearing - always has been. If other people are stupid enough to overlook him because his clothes aren't sharp or hip enough, then that just confirms everything Bucky already knows about the collective idiocy of the human race. 

Anyone who thinks Steve's too stuffy or boring to be desirable doesn't deserve him, and it's the same for anyone who'd chase after him just because he's Captain America, tall and broad where he used to be slight and beautiful. Steve's still beautiful, and Bucky doesn't deserve him either, but he's the one Steve wants, and that's more than enough for Bucky. 

***

Bucky wakes to the sound of Steve screaming. He’s not fully awake, barely aware but thrashing in the bed wildly, his voice hoarse and terrified as he calls out Bucky’s name, reaching out for him blindly in the dark. 

It’s been awhile since this happened - for them, anyway - and Bucky knows why, it’s always the same. When he and Steve go to bed, they always do so wrapped tightly in each other, Steve using the strength and length of limbs the serum gave him to keep Bucky pressed against him, safe and secure, but they don’t always stay that way. Sometimes Bucky gets too overheated, or claustrophobic from the feeling of being held down, even by Steve, and he shifts during the night, ending up on the opposite side of the bed, out of Steve’s reach.

Those always seem to be the nights when the nightmares come, but Bucky can’t train himself out of the unconscious movement, the half awake need to be unencumbered, to be free to get away, to protect, if he has to.

Tonight, Steve’s pretty far gone, pleading for Bucky even though he’s right there, crouched at Steve’s side and answering Steve’s calls. It’s not enough to properly wake Steve, to bring him back to Bucky, so he uses Steve’s disorientation to straddle him, pinning him to the bed with his knees pressed against Steve’s thighs and his left hand around Steve’s neck. The hold is hard enough to keep Steve still, but not so hard that he can’t breathe, at least if Bucky can remind Steve he knows how.

He works on that first, loosening his grip on Steve’s neck ever so slightly and saying, “Breathe for me, Stevie, come on,” while staring steadfastly into Steve’s wild, frantic eyes. 

Steve bucks underneath him a little and Bucky tightens his hold, pressing more weight down against Steve’s legs. His movement slows and then stops. Steve looks up at Bucky helplessly, eyes red rimmed, lashes damp. 

“It’s okay,” Bucky soothes, his thumb starting to move against Steve’s throat, gentle, even strokes. “It’s okay, I’m here.”

Steve blinks some, a little focus coming back to his expression, and he starts breathing in time to the motion of Bucky’s thumb, still moving against his pulse.

There’s still disbelief and fear on Steve’s face, despite these slight improvements, and Bucky tries again, knowing what Steve usually needs at times like this. He tightens his hand, still not quite cutting off Steve’s air supply but forcing his focus, all Steve’s attention fixed on Bucky now as he says, “My name is James Buchanan Barnes.” He waits until Steve nods, just enough for Bucky to feel it against his hand, and then continues, “You call me Bucky. I’m your best friend.”

It’s not quite like waving a magic wand, but it’s close, something in Bucky’s words or his tone always reaching Steve when nothing else will, that steady assurance that Bucky is here, that he remembers who he is bringing Steve back to himself when nothing else can.

Steve’s hand starts to move as soon as Bucky has all the words out, and he’s shaking underneath Bucky, but his hand settles against Bucky’s side, making a fist around the soft fabric of the t-shirt Bucky went to sleep in - one of Steve’s old SSR ones that Bucky stole from the Smithsonian along with the rest of their belongings before they left DC. 

“You’re...” Steve croaks out slowly, voice raw from screaming, and he clenches down harder around Bucky’s shirt, not saying anything more, eyes searching Bucky with naked desperation.

Bucky rocks down against Steve a little, reminding both of them that he’s there, that he’s real, and he says, “Yours,” because he thinks that might be what Steve needs to hear. It snaps something loose inside Steve almost instantly, and he finally goes lax underneath Bucky, fear giving way to acceptance, relief. “Yours, Steve, I’m yours,” Bucky says again, and it’s the easiest thing in the world to say - it’s the truest thing he knows about himself. Always has been. 

He repeats it over and over, reminding Steve who he is and who he belongs to until finally Steve is fully awake and fully calm, almost relaxed enough to smile up at Bucky when he says, “Bucky?” not because he doubts it anymore, but because he wants to hear Bucky tell him again.

Bucky releases Steve’s neck and runs his metal knuckles along the ridge of Steve’s left cheek bone, warmth and reassurance in his voice when he says, “Yeah, pal, that’s me.”

***

In the morning, Steve wakes up first, already sitting up, expression drawn and guilty, by the time Bucky groggily lifts his head from his pillow. 

“Steve,” Bucky says hoarsely, reaching out to curl his fingers around Steve’s waist to let him know he’s awake, still here, still aware of who they both are. 

Steve turns to him slowly, like every movement is painful and costly. When he finally looks at Bucky, Steve says, “I’m sorry,” the anguished words seemingly ripped out of him against his will. Steve doesn’t usually apologize after nights like the one they just had - considers that to be another self-indulgence, asking for forgiveness when he doesn’t think he deserves it. 

Bucky thinks that’s bullshit, and he tells Steve so by grabbing him and pulling Steve down against his chest, burying his fingers in Steve’s hair, long and soft now like Bucky likes, and saying, “Don’t be,” as fiercely as he knows how. 

He’s toppled regimes with that voice, given kill orders and hard edged mission reports, and it works on Steve now. His breathing starts to come easier, deep and even, and for a long time Steve just lies there, letting Bucky hold him. 

***

Steve runs inside these days, on the treadmill that sits in in their living room, facing the wall of windows looking down at their city. Bucky offered to go out with him in the mornings after Steve explained that part of his daily routine, but Steve said no forcibly enough for Bucky to listen. He’s not sure if it’s for his benefit or Steve’s, but it doesn’t really matter. Both of them prefer to stay inside most days, to keep within a few arms’ lengths of each other, at most. 

The outdoors presents too many variables, too many people and too much noise, but they do venture out together sometimes, usually late at night, when there are as few people as possible. It’s still New York, so that’s always only a matter of degree, but every little bit helps. Bucky’s getting more comfortable with riding the subway, even during the day, but they both prefer taking Steve’s bike out for long silent rides at night, Bucky in back, gripping Steve’s waist securely. Steve still has his brown leather jacket from before, and it looks as good on him as it always did, but Bucky allows him to continue wearing it because it protects Steve from the elements and because that way, when Bucky borrows it, it will still smell like him. Whenever they go out riding, Steve insists that Bucky wear the jacket, and it helps. He takes to stealing at least one piece of Steve’s clothing and wearing it whenever they go outside. 

No matter how much easier it gets to leave the tower, he and Steve always try to avoid Brooklyn. They travel all across the city, ride the Staten Island Ferry and sit for hours in Battery Park while Steve sketches Bucky standing by the water, but they stay as far from their old neighborhood as they can, shunning the entire borough as best they’re able just to be safe. 

Bucky misses their old apartment, the deli where they used to splurge on pastrami on rye and giant pickles when Bucky got a big paycheck or Steve sold one of his drawings, misses the old dance halls and hole in the wall bars he was forever trying to drag Steve into, but none of that is there anymore, or worse, some of it probably is, but nothing will be the same. They both know that, and steer clear of the ghosts of their childhood as best they can, not needing to talk about it to understand why. 

Neither of them can go back, they can’t turn back time or even pretend to, and Bucky is fine with that, he’s okay just as long as Steve is, as long as they’re together. Their old memories are precious, a shared heritage they both will fight to keep safe, but they can go new places now, make new memories. Before, there were so many places they couldn’t afford to go, so many things Steve couldn’t do, and as comforting as falling back into some of their old routines is, carving out which parts of themselves they want to keep as they were, there’s room for change now, too. For bright lights and clasped hands, braving the sharp and glittering future they’ve found themselves in together. 

***

They get nine and a half months together - longer than Bucky ever hoped for, really - before Steve has to go save the world again. This one’s messy, and mostly Stark’s fault - well, at least partially Stark’s fault - but Steve’s got a good team. He’s good. Bucky is reasonably certain they’ve got this.

Certain enough to cheer from the sidelines, from the safety of Stark’s impenetrable monstrosity of architecture, instead of joining the fray himself. For the first time in their lives, Steve fights, and Bucky stays home. He’d be useful, he knows he would, not dangerous anymore except to the right people, but he stays home. Steve asks him to and he says yes, simple as that.

It’s hard to be away from him - harder even than knowing Steve is in danger and Bucky is too far to be any help, because that much, at least, is easy. It’s easy because it’s what Steve needs. The side effect - the simple, impossible physical distance, is much more difficult. The boredom isn’t great either, but Bucky’s not used to being away from Steve for more than a few minutes, and this turns out to be far longer than that. 

He doesn’t complain though, behaves himself and waits as patiently as he can for Steve to come back. It helps that he understands the need for the separation, even though he hates knowing Steve must be missing him, too, hurting over him, too.

It’s a sacrifice for both of them, and one Bucky’s pretty sure no one else quite understands. The other Avengers clearly expected Bucky to suit up with them when Stark’s little pet project turned into a global catastrophe, but Bucky knew he’d be staying home even before Steve asked. Steve’s being selfish now, but with Bucky, not himself. Steve’s still on call, he’s still Steve, always ready to make the sacrifice play, but not with Bucky. 

Bucky’s his exception now, something he’s never let himself have before. He’s the thing Steve won’t budge on, the thing he’ll do anything to keep safe. All his life, he’s watched Steve put everyone before himself, and he’s still that guy, ready to sacrifice himself, always, but not when it comes to Bucky. 

When it comes to Bucky, Steve’s no longer playing by the rules. 

***

Steve apologizes the first time he calls Bucky from the field, sounding even more wrecked than he looks on the viewscreen.

“I know how much good you’d do out there, how much it’d help, but I... I can’t...” Steve trails off miserably, too tired or too ashamed to finish his sentence.

Bucky tisks gently, and tells Steve not to worry about it.

He can tell Steve isn’t quite ready to be comforted, reassured, but Bucky means it. It’s Steve; it’s gonna be okay. Captain America won’t fail the world, and Steve Rogers won’t fail Bucky. Part of Bucky would prefer being out there, sure, watching Steve’s back, but there are other ways he can protect Steve, and if knowing Bucky is safe from harm helps him fight, keeps him focused, then that’s fine. Bucky can do that for him, can play that new role. 

Steve needs looking after, needs all kinds of things he won’t let himself have until he makes sure he’s given them to Bucky first. Deep down, Bucky knows Steve wants more than anything to _fit_ , to belong. He’s always been ashamed of it, thinking he should be strong enough to rely on only himself, but Steve also craves ownership. Steve wants to be kept, cherished, but in order to let himself have that, he needs to do the same and more for Bucky. Steve’s never thought enough of himself to really ask for that, to expect it, too good to believe he deserved to be spoiled and cared for, but things are different now. 

Steve’s finally done denying that part of himself, giving up after decades of pushing it down until he couldn’t feel it anymore. That desire, that need. Now, Steve wants everything, and when it comes to Bucky, he’s done denying them both. 

He’s more than being selfish with Bucky now, that’s not all this is. Steve’s making up for lost time, battling his own guilt for making Bucky wait all those years before the war, for taking this long to love Bucky back as much as Bucky’s always loved him. Steve’s trying to make up for all that and who knows what else. It’s Steve. In Steve’s mind, there’s always something to atone for, and it all seems to start and end with Bucky these days. 

Bucky gets that, he doesn’t mind. There are worse things than being Steve Rogers’ blind spot, the the one thing he cares about too much to sacrifice, not again. Never again.

***

While Steve fights, Bucky plans. Schemes. Strategizes. Purchases real estate. Researches dog breeds. 

He also does laundry. Eats meals. Has coffee dates with Pepper when she’s not off being busy and important, helping save the world. He watches an obscene amount of Star Trek. Sharpens his knives and cleans his guns, just in case.

Regular stuff.

When Steve comes back, bruised and bloodied and bone weary, slicked back hair just starting to fall against his forehead, Bucky smiles at him, puts his arm around Steve’s shaking shoulders, and says, “How do you feel about rural Pennsylvania?” 

***

The house Bucky bought for them sits on two acres of what used to be a sheep farm, and it comes with a dog and three cats. Possibly four. The old owner wasn’t entirely sure when she sold it to Bucky, explaining that the cats lived in the barn, hunting mice, and sometimes went missing and didn’t come back, but other times they did. So they might have four cats, they just don’t know. Bucky bulk buys the cat food either way, puts it out even though the cats he does know they have seem content to eat mice and whatever else they can hunt in the scraps of woods that line their property. 

It was easy as pie to convince Steve they should move out to the middle of nowhere, even though they’ve both always been city boys at heart, even though Steve will often be needed elsewhere. All Bucky had to do was ask, and explain the move was something he wanted, a place for just the two of them, safe and away from it all, and Steve started packing their bags. 

Now they’re here, together. Just them, their recently retired border collie, and their three cats. Maybe four. It’s not exactly the white picket fence and cookie cutter life Bucky knows Steve once envisioned for himself, but it’s home, and it’s theirs, and Bucky honestly can’t remember ever being happier. 

When he tells Steve this on their first night properly living in their house - there were bird issues (barn swallows in the chimney) and then also the logistics of working out how to actually use the wood stove itself to heat the place - Steve looks shocked, and then worried.

“You’ve been happier, Buck,” he says, grave and sorry like he’s afraid Bucky’s suddenly forgotten all his other, better memories and is just stuck with these crappy new ones and frankly, that stings a little. 

“This not good enough for you, Stevie, huh?” he asks, spreading his arms wide and looking around their new kitchen, half unpacked boxes all around them. One of the cats winds its way between Steve’s legs as he stands across the room from Bucky. This might be the fourth cat. He doesn’t recognize its calico markings, but it doesn’t matter. There’s more than enough food to go around, and he’s sure there’s plenty of mice, too. 

Steve looks instantly chagrined, apologetic, and Bucky waves him off. “I’m fucking delighted by life right now, okay, pal, can you just back me up on that? Look at us, we’re alive, we’re mostly in one piece, we have a _house_. A real fucking house that’s just ours, and no one can take that from us. We don’t have to leave unless we want to, and if we do, we can always come back, because that’s what home is. Don’t you want that?” he asks, proud of himself for not being pathetic enough to add _with me?_

“Of course I want that, if you do,” Steve says, immediately crossing the distance between them to wrap Bucky up in a stubbornly fierce embrace. 

Bucky pulls back sooner than Steve’d probably prefer, but only enough so that he can look up at Steve, and Steve lets him go to brush his thumbs against Bucky’s cheeks instead, saying, “You’re all I want, Bucky. Whatever makes you happy, that’s what’s going to make me happy, too.”

“I know,” Bucky says, voice fuzzy and slow, but trusting Steve to believe him anyway. It’s the truth. He knows that now, he knows it’s true for both of them. “I’m happy here, now, with you.”

As soon Bucky he says it, Steve smiles, says, “Then so I am,” and then leans down for a light, criminally brief kiss.

Bucky lets him get away with it, lets Steve steal a first kiss in their new home and then turn away like it didn’t even happen, opening a random box and starting to put things away, because he’s too god damn blissful to not. He can get Steve back later, anyway. He knows where Steve lives.

***

They never learn the names of all their cats, or end up properly naming them themselves. Bucky just calls all of them _sweetheart_ and _babydoll_ and hopes they still feel appreciated. He goes to see them in the barn at least once a day, making coaxing noises and petting whoever comes out to see him, and usually all of them do, one after another. They’re allowed inside, too, because Steve is even more of a soft touch than he is, and he often sees Steve standing in the living room, petting their chubby little calico cat up on their bookshelf, where she likes to sit in the afternoon sun. Sometimes the cats leave dead mice on the front porch, or inside on the back mat where Steve insisted they install a cat door before they moved in. Bucky hopes the mice mean the cats are getting more than enough to eat, and that they have accepted Steve and himself as their own. Cats are magnificent creatures, he’s decided since taking ownership of approximately four of them, and he wants them to trust him and Steve. 

Their dog’s name is Shadow, and she always comes when called, so Bucky sees no reason to try and change it. Without any more sheep to corral, Shadow spends a lot of her time herding Steve instead, protective and affectionate with him but clearly mistaking Bucky for the leader of their little pack. Bucky feels almost embarrassed about how loyal and submissive Shadow is with him, but it seems to make Steve happy for some reason. He knows he gets bossy with Steve, but that only works because Steve lets him. He’ll always be the one with the real power of the two of them, as far as Bucky’s concerned, but Shadow doesn’t seem to pick up on that, and mostly, Bucky is just glad she hasn’t tried to run away. Dogs can go pretty far when they think their masters need to be found, and every day when Bucky wakes to Shadow sleeping on the floor on his side of the bed, he feels relief and contentment settle into his bones. 

The family that used to live here had to move to the city unexpectedly, leaving their animals behind, and he doesn’t tell Steve that because he knows it’ll make him sad, but Bucky thinks the cats and Shadow are better off with them, anyway. Steve is good at caring for strays, and Bucky is good at caring for Steve.

***

Bucky takes up gardening. At least, that’s his intention. Once spring comes. It’s fall now, and he settles for books, educating himself on the subject. There’s not much he can do until next year, but he plants a few tulip bulbs in their front yard to start, and hopes they’ll come up when the snow melts. 

Steve keeps drawing, keeps dressing only in what Bucky tells him too, wearing his hair exactly as Bucky asks, sometimes even letting Bucky comb it himself so it’s just right. After a couple weeks, Steve starts drawing their land, their house, and not just Bucky. Landscapes evolve quickly into loving sketches of their pets, often featuring all of them piled together in what is clearly wishful thinking on Steve’s part, and Bucky takes to putting them up all over, covering their walls with Steve’s art. Steve blushes about it at first, but then he gets with the program, making fun of Bucky instead, calling him vain. Bucky laughs it off, knowing Steve’s right about that, and not caring in the slightest.

He’s always in the pictures, still prominent no matter the subject, but there are other things now, too.

***

A month in, Bucky orders Steve to fuck him, and Steve does. He spreads Bucky out on their reinforced bed, and works Bucky open with a sinful mouth and slicked up fingers until Bucky’s writhing and cursing Steve’s name, threatening to take matters into his own hands if Steve won’t get the hell on with it. He’s far enough gone not to understand why Steve laughs at that, taking too long to realize he can’t actually fuck himself, and that his fingers will be no better than Steve’s - far worse, in fact - but he settles for rolling his hips and pleading with Steve shamelessly to fuck him. 

“Please, Steve, please, I need you,” he says, figuring begging might work where orders are longer getting through.

Steve holds out for few more agonizingly perfect seconds, kissing him all open mouthed and filthy, his fingers stretching Bucky out, filling him up, and only after Bucky has to bite back a desperate sob does Steve give him what he wants. He pulls Bucky closer, kneeling over him, and fucks into Bucky slow and sweet, at least at first. Bucky’s having none of that, wants this _now_ and can’t stand the thought of Steve holding back, not even a little, and Steve fucks him hard and fast and fucking perfect once Bucky goads him into it. When they’re finished, coming only split-seconds apart, Steve cleans them both up and then wraps himself around Bucky, kissing the back of his neck over and over, almost like he can’t stop.

Bucky’s not complaining, far from it, and he eventually gathers the energy to say, “Okay, maybe _this_ is the happiest I’ve ever been,” and then waits as Steve freezes, thinks about what he’s said, and then finally gets it, settling more comfortably against him. 

This is the happiest Bucky’s ever been, but only for now. Every day, every minute they share is another opportunity, a chance to top themselves, and Bucky’s starting to feel like the sky’s the limit with the two of them. Nothing’s too good for Steve, never has been, and Bucky’s happy, over the fucking moon, to finally be the person able to give it to him. Everything Bucky has, everything Steve deserves.


	2. slight foxing around the edges

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> They’ve been living happily ever after for almost seven months when Bucky is triggered by something he reads on the side of a can of beans.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is essentially 4.5K of Bucky hiding in a barn, and yet not a single Barnes related pun was made. I really let myself down on that one, apologies.
> 
> For Megan, sorry you had to beta it yourself. ♥

They’ve been living happily ever after for almost seven months when Bucky is triggered by something he reads on the side of a can of beans. They’re chickpeas - something he’d never tasted before moving in with Steve the second time around - and there’s a suggested recipe for something called _hummus_ on the back. Bucky’s home alone, contemplating lunch idly, but as soon his eyes scan over the word, he’s not Bucky anymore. He’s the Asset. He loses time, spends who knows how long stalking the house and the edge of the woods, waiting for the Target to return. 

It doesn’t get that far - thank fucking... thank everything. It’s not Steve coming home that snaps him out of it. He doesn’t get a chance to find out, but it’s more likely that seeing Steve right then would have only put him down further, sinking him deeper into the Asset’s hollowed out persona, soulless yet mindful violence wrapped in metal and flesh. 

He’s not thinking about anything but his mission, furious for his ongoing failure and desperate to finally finish the job and rid the world of Captain America once and for all. He has to kill the Target so he can return to his handlers, to the release and oblivion of cryo, and it’s not Steve coming back that brings him out of it. 

It’s Shadow. She finds him where he’s hidden in the culvert at the edge of the gravel road that leads onto their property, and at first he doesn’t really register her. She’s just a dog, irrelevant to the mission, not a threat or even enough to rate as a distraction, but then she gets closer, whining at him all high and forlorn, crouching so low she’s practically on her belly as she approaches him. Still, he doesn’t react, eyes scanning the road singlemindedly until Shadow gets close enough to touch, nosing at his metal hand and keening softly. 

It shouldn’t work. It shouldn’t even touch him - he shouldn’t feel it and he shouldn’t _care_. The Asset doesn’t fucking feel, that’s the whole goddamn _deal_. That’s what makes it bearable, the brittle silver lining. The Asset wouldn’t start to cry in a fucking ditch because his dog was sad and worse, maybe scared. 

The Asset would have snapped Shadow’s neck and gone back to waiting for the Target without even bothering to move the body unless it started to attract flies. The Asset would have sat in the dank metal embrace of the culvert until the Target returned and then the Asset would have put a bullet between his eyes. The Asset certainly wouldn’t have forgotten his fucking gun in the house, wouldn’t have dropped the only weapon he did think to bring - a pair of god damn garden shears - in the puddle of water at his feet in favor of burying his face and his hands in Shadow’s long thick fur and crying into her coat until Steve finally came home and found them both still huddled there.

But by then he’s not the Asset anymore. He’s Bucky again, shaky and terrified and devastatingly himself, guilt and awareness hitting him in full force the longer he cries and holds onto the animal who brought him back, who reminded him how to be human.

It takes Steve a long while of searching and calling Bucky’s name with increasing volume and anxiety before he finds them down in the ditch, because Bucky didn’t answer, didn’t want to be found. When Steve crouches in front of the entrance to the culvert and says Bucky’s name, his face is grey and his voice is terrified, but Bucky barely responds, doesn’t say anything and can’t look at Steve. He doesn’t let Steve touch him either, gets up only to avoid Steve’s gentle hands and soft, concerned eyes.

He flees - there’s no other word for it. He looks at Steve just long enough to make eye contact and then feel bile rise in his throat, his stomach revolting at the thought of what he’d been prepared to do only minutes - maybe hours now - before. He can’t stand it, can’t bear to be near Steve for the first time in his fucking life, so he runs. He runs and Steve doesn’t try to follow him, at least not fast enough to actually catch Bucky. He pursues, but from an unthreatening distance, not using his superior speed against Bucky, letting him go. 

Bucky doesn’t go far - can’t actually bear the thought of leaving Steve entirely, could never do that - but he runs until he finds himself in the barn. It seems right, feels safe, and it’s better when he climbs the rickety ladder up to the hayloft and backs himself up into the deepest corner, sunlight spilling through the paneless window to his left. He can see the road from here, can see the treeline of their property and even their house, if he cranes his neck and peers out far enough. It’s a good spot. A sniper’s dream, and even though he doesn’t have his gun, it settles something inside Bucky to be up there, watching, keeping a look out. 

If this is what he’s going to be now - if the Asset is what he’s turning back into - he can still use it to protect Steve. If he’s reduced back into what Hydra made him, there’s still a way he can survive that, can keep going. He’ll watch and wait and try his best to protect Steve, and if it comes to that, he prays he’ll have the strength to save Steve from himself.

***

They told him something like this might happen. He was amply warned, cautioned in particular against leaving the Tower where there were resources close at hand, people that could help him if it came to that. Bucky just honestly believed it never would. He had Steve back, and as far as he’s been concerned all these past months, loving Steve like he deserves was the only mission that mattered anymore. Making him happy, making him feel special and treasured and safe. Making him a home he always wanted to come back to. 

Bucky’s been doing those things and he’s been _fine_. He’s been wonderful. But the poison is still in him, much as he’s tried to convince himself otherwise. He’s still a monster, and it’s not because of what he’s done in the past, the lives he’s taken, the people he’s hurt. He doesn’t care about any of that, didn’t before, doesn’t now. That was Hydra, and he’s made a fragile sort of peace with the things he did in its name. He’s a monster because he almost hurt Steve, still might, but even knowing that isn’t enough to make Bucky leave Steve’s side, to put the kind of distance between that would truly guarantee Steve’s safety from him. 

He’s in control, at least for now. He knows who he is and what the risks are. He knows what he’s capable of, but he’s too weak, too selfish, and he can’t lose Steve. Not all the way. Not after everything. 

So he sits up in the hayloft, indifferent to his hunger and gnawing loneliness, the way being without Steve feels like suffocating slowly. He watches, and he waits. He stays up there, not answering when Steve calls for him from beneath the window, voice pleading but not angry, not denying Bucky this choice. He closed the barn doors from the inside, a thick oak bar holding them in place, and it’s nothing Steve couldn’t push past in an instant - the effort of crashing through wouldn’t even cause him to break a sweat - but he doesn’t. 

Bucky hides and Steve lets him. Bucky tells himself this is the compromise they can both live with, like that makes it somehow okay to put Steve in danger, not knowing if he’s already becoming the thing that finally ends Steve’s decades long streak of blind fucking luck.

***

Steve leaves him alone that night. It’s a worrying concession to Steve’s deference toward him, something Bucky never thought could out match Steve’s stubbornness, but apparently can. He doesn’t give up his vigil at the foot of Bucky’s window until well after sundown, which comes late this time of year, but eventually he does go. 

He leaves with a soft, “G’night, Buck,” and Bucky stays hidden from view until he hears Steve’s footsteps getting far enough off that Bucky can duck his head out and watch Steve make it safely the rest of the way home.

***

In the morning, Steve sounds tired. Bucky didn’t get any sleep that night himself, pinwheeling somewhere between blindly anxious and fully alert, and he hears Steve coming just after sunrise. 

Steve settles down on the grass underneath the window of the barn and the leans against it with a sigh, murmuring, “Morning, Bucky,” as his head hits the side of building with a soft thud. 

Bucky’s got himself tucked against the barn wall as well, but to the right of the window, enough that he’s out of view. Steve can’t see him, and he can’t see Steve. Fair’s fair. 

He can’t bring himself to say hello or good morning to Steve, isn’t sure his vocal chords would work the way he wants them to even if he tried, but Bucky sits, and waits, and after a little while, Steve starts talking again. 

“Took me forever to get dressed this morning,” he’s saying, voice quiet but still loud enough for Bucky to hear. “Couldn’t decide on a thing, ended up just wearing the same clothes as I did yesterday.”

Bucky closes his eyes, picturing it. Yesterday - before - he dressed Steve in a red checkered button up with short sleeves, paired with loose fitting jeans that Steve quietly requested he be allowed to wear once they moved to the country and summer hit. Steve’s comfort has always paramount to him, so Bucky’d agreed easily, even though the jeans do hug Steve’s ass and thighs more than he’d like. Everyone in town knows about them though, knows Steve is Bucky’s and Bucky is Steve’s, thinks they’re the sweetest story, so that’s alright. It’s all been so good, being here. So far. Until now. 

Bucky opens his eyes, and stares straight ahead. The opposite wall of the barn meets his eyes squarely. Beneath him on the barn floor, one of their cats starts to meow. It’s the little orange one, perpetually tiny after he was rescued from drowning by Steve on his first day working for the volunteer fire department. The rescue had been unrelated to Steve’s new duties - he’d just been driving home the slow way and heard the cat’s crying from the stream under the bridge a few miles away from their land. Steve’d been furious when he got home, seeing red and ranting in a low, measured tone about needless cruelty and people refusing to take responsibility for their share of making the world a better place. Bucky’d just taken the kitten out of his hands and gotten him a bowl of milk, holding the scrawny orange ball in his lap and slowly coaxing him into taking a drink. Since then, he’s been Bucky’s favorite, and even though he never uses the name around Steve because he doubts he’d see it that way, in his head and in private he’s always called the little guy Lucky. 

The meowing stops, and Bucky almost wants to go down and pluck Lucky off the floor and bring him up here, but he’s afraid the movement would give Steve too much false hope, so Bucky stays where he is. 

“I’m going into town again today,” Steve tries again, voice a little louder, more coaxing this time. “Do you need anything?” There’s a long silence, as though Steve’s thinking about what he said, and then he adds, “Want something special?” 

Want and need are very different, and Steve knows that better than most. 

Bucky shakes his head even though Steve can’t see him. Can’t help answering Steve in his head, _No thanks, pal. Just take care of yourself out there._

Steve can’t hear him, hasn’t yet mastered mindreading on top of all his other perfections, but Bucky hopes he’s listening anyway.

***

Steve’s gone for a few hours. Bucky hears the truck when it leaves, and again when Steve comes back. He’s been away long enough to play at least three games of dominoes with the rest of the old folks who frequent the community centre in the heart of town, and probably grabbed a meal with some of the fellas he volunteers with at the fire hall. At least Bucky hopes he’s eaten something by now. Steve’s better at remembering to eat when he’s making sure Bucky does. 

When he comes back, Steve only stops for a short while by the window, doesn’t even sit down from what Bucky can hear. Instead, he just leans against the wall and says, “I miss you, Buck,” and then waits a few minutes before knocking twice on the barn wall and walking away.

His footsteps are slow and reluctant sounding to Bucky’s ears, but even though it’s one of the hardest things he’s ever done, Bucky stays where he is and stubbornly doesn’t follow.

***

Steve starts leaving food in front of the barn doors on the second night. Bucky refuses to take it the first time, but by the third, he’s realized that if he wants Steve to eat, he probably has to do the same, or Steve will starve himself on principle, so he starts taking the small packages of leftovers and bottles of water Steve leaves for him. He always waits until it’s dark in the house, all the lights off and shrouded in the kind of silence that means Steve must be sleeping settles over the house before climbing down and taking the food. 

Beyond sticking his hand out to grab the food, Bucky never leaves the barn unless it’s to shit in the woods, pissing in a bucket and dumping that in the woods too when he goes out there. He usually does that during the day, when he’s sure Steve’s already gone into town, but even then, he’s fast and careful not to leave a trail. He doesn’t want to find Steve waiting for him out there some morning. 

He eats sparingly, and shares most of what he has with the cats. Some nights, when he’s finished, he carries Lucky up there with him, and occasionally even gets some sleep with Lucky kneading his claws into Bucky’s chest rhymically, a soft purr rumbling against Bucky’s ribcage.

***

After two weeks of letting Bucky hide, Steve assembles the fucking Avengers to try and get him to come down. 

Bucky has no idea why Steve thinks other people will be able to convince him when Steve couldn’t, but he’s lonely as hell and has been really fucking bored all shut up in the barn, finds himself almost welcoming the distraction. That’s all it is - a distraction. Bucky tells himself this firmly and repeatedly, even though part of him is screaming that the Asset doesn’t get bored, or lonely, or care about whether Steve is happy or sad, so maybe all that means something. He ignores the voice because he’s already made the mistake of trusting himself once, and there’s no way he’s doing that again until he can really be sure he isn’t going to flip some internal switch and end up hurting Steve. 

So it’s definitely not going to work, Steve’s little plan about using the power of cooperation and friendship to get Bucky back, but it’s somewhat entertaining to watch them all try. Turning them down doesn’t make him feel guilty and sad, either, like it does with Steve, so that’s also a plus.

Stark flies up in his newest Iron Man suit, and talks Bucky’s ear off about how special he should feel that Tony traveled to “the land time forgot” to see him, but doesn’t actually try and come inside the barn. Bucky stays hidden in the shadows, and doesn’t offer Tony a reply. 

Natasha just stands underneath the window, calls him an idiot in Russian, and then threatens to kill him if he keeps hurting Steve. She doesn’t mean it, and it would one the sweetest thing he’s ever heard her say even if she had, maybe especially then, but still, Bucky doesn’t come down.

Sam doesn’t try and come in either, but he does shout up, “Your dog really fucking misses you,” through cupped hands. 

Bucky thinks that’s dirty pool, bringing Shadow into this, because he knows it’s not her fault and he knows he’d be safe around her, so he can’t even tell himself he’s staying away for good reasons, like he can with Steve. Sam’s smarter than he looks, and Bucky’s always thought he looked frustratingly smart. 

Sam adds, “Not sure who misses you more, honestly. Shadow and Steve are working pretty hard to out-pathetic each other,” and that’s a little less smart, calling Steve pathetic in front of him, but maybe not, because he’s almost pissed enough to come down there and do something about it.

Bucky catches himself at the last second, hands already on the ladder before he realizes what he’s doing. He takes a breath, calms down, and goes back to sitting beside the window like he’d been doing before. 

Sam mutters, “It was worth a shot,” before he leaves.

Banner doesn’t try and bust out the Other Guy to help Steve’s cause, but he does break into the barn with his own two hands and then stands at the foot of the ladder, quietly telling Bucky a story about the time he got so low he tried to end it all, and how he’s still sometimes sorry it didn’t work. There’s no inspirational message at the end, just a huffed breath and a rueful smile that Bucky actually peaks down to see. When he gets caught, Banner waves at him, but doesn’t say anything more. Bucky stays silent, but waves back. Banner leaves not long after that. 

Clint scales the barn and climbs through Bucky’s window with ease. He smiles and removes his shades, sitting down beside Bucky in the hayloft, and says, “Nice spot.”

Bucky nods. 

Clint stays with him for a long time, just sitting beside Bucky in silence. He leaves a Sig 50 sniper rifle for Bucky when he goes, and Bucky feels almost better for the first time since coming up here, realizing that Clint only left him the gun because he trusts Bucky not to use it, at least not for any of the wrong reasons. 

Thor offers to tear the barn down with his hammer, but Steve says no, no thank you. Bucky knows he’s really in trouble when he realizes part of him wishes Steve had let him.

***

Once Steve’s team have all tried and failed to get Bucky to come down, Steve returns to his window alone. 

“Your garden’s struggling, Buck,” he says that night, after spending the day sitting below Bucky in silence. “I’m trying to keep up with the weeds but I’m not always sure what’s supposed to keep growing and what isn’t. I think I over-watered your tomatoes, too, I’m sorry. The corn is thriving, though. Seem to be able to keep that alive, at least.”

It’s mid-July, and Bucky’s been working on his garden since April. Further back, if you count the seedlings he started in the kitchen under a heat-lamp over the winter, or the tulips he planted in the fall. They’ve been coming up beautifully - bursts of golden yellow dipped in fiery red alongside rows of solid white.

He finds himself hoping they’re not all dead before he finally comes down.

Realizes that means he eventually will.

He doesn’t tell Steve that, not then, but he knows he will, one of these nights. He doesn’t know if he’s better or not, if he’s safe around Steve or a danger to him, but he’s not sure how much longer that will be enough. He misses Steve too much, and he’s never claimed to be as good a man.

***

Three nights later, Bucky is still up in the hayloft when he hears Steve start to scream. It’s quiet at first, muffled and far off, but Steve’s cries quickly grow louder and more frantic, strangled shouts of Bucky’s name overlapping as they carry across the dark field, reaching Bucky’s ears. He hadn’t been sleeping, but Steve’s loud enough now that he would have woken up even if he'd been having the best sleep of his life. 

Bucky runs. 

He doesn’t stop to think, to wonder about what has Steve screaming his name, not yet. It could be a nightmare, or something worse, but it doesn’t matter. He’s already out the window, jumping without thought and landing in a roll without even consciously choosing to do so. He trips twice on his way, all his grace and efficiency abandoning him in his desperate haste, but he doesn’t care. All that matters is getting to Steve. 

Bucky crashes through their door and charges up the stairs in the same breathless frenzy, bursting into their bedroom to find Steve sitting up in bed and panting, his eyes wild and unseeing. He’s looking right at Bucky and still crying out for him like he isn’t even there.

Bucky is on him in seconds, straddling Steve and putting his hands against Steve’s neck like he has so many times before. Steve is perfectly still underneath him. He quiets at Bucky’s touch, but his eyes are still hazy, like he isn’t ready yet to believe them.

Bucky squeezes his throat a little, gentle enough to almost be a caress, and says, “Good thing we don’t have neighbors anymore, huh pal?”

Steve’s face breaks open, a sob turning into a laugh and then back again, tears starting to fall in an ugly rush, his whole body shaking. 

“I’m sorry,” Bucky says, not knowing where else to start. “I’m right here, I’m sorry, I’m here, Steve, Stevie, babydoll, it’s okay. It’s all okay, I’m sorry. I’m here.”

Steve just keeps crying, keeps shaking, but he reaches out, clutching onto Bucky and burying his face in the crook of Bucky’s neck. 

When he finally calms down, Steve pulls away slowly, and punches Bucky in the stomach. Hard. It fucking hurts, but Bucky is glad for it. The pain grounds him even better than cradling Steve in his arms.

“You’re a jerk,” Steve says, a lifetime of experience backing up the confidence in his voice.

Bucky laughs, a little broken and a lot rueful, and says, “I love you, Steve.” It’s not his line, he’s supposed to call Steve a punk and probably punch him back, but Bucky is too tired. He’s been away from Steve too long. All he wants to do now is make up for it, to comfort Steve as best he can and give himself up to it. Maybe he’ll get triggered again, maybe he won’t. Steve will take care of him if he does. He won’t let Bucky hurt him. Not anymore than he already has.

“I love you, too,” Steve says eventually, tucking himself back against Bucky’s chest. “Please don’t leave again.”

Bucky’s arms spasm around Steve, gripping him tighter, and when he promises Steve, “I won’t,” Bucky makes a silent vow to himself as well, swearing that he will find a way to mean it.

***

The next morning, Bucky makes Steve hold a gun on him as he goes into the pantry to read the can of chickpeas again. He’s been repeating the word in his head off and on since he first saw it, sometimes saying it aloud as well. Nothing’s happened so far, but maybe he has to read it for the trigger to work. Maybe it was a one time thing. He doesn’t know, maybe _can’t_ know, but he has to at least try and find out.

“Hands steady, Rogers,” Bucky says to him as Steve regards him from across the kitchen, all stubborn reluctance and pinched frowns, like this is completely unnecessary and Steve’s somehow offended by the entire exercise.

Reckless idiot. 

“I’m not going to shoot you, Buck,” Steve protests softly, even as his eyes are trained on Bucky, arms up, his finger on the trigger.

“You will if you have to,” Bucky counters, just as softly, holding the can in his hand but not quite looking at it yet, the recipe that started it all still turned away, hidden behind his fingers.

“Bucky--”

“Promise me that you’ll take me down if something happens or I’m leaving right now, Steve. Really leaving.”

Steve stares at him, and Bucky stares back. 

Neither of them blink, but Bucky says, “I’m serious, Steve. I’ll leave and you won’t fucking find me. Promise, or I go.”

Steve’s face pinches even more, from disapproving to scared now, but he still sounds almost petulant when he says, “ _You_ already promised me that you wouldn’t--”

“Yeah well, I was lying, okay Steve? I’m the bad guy, remember?”

“No you’re not,” Steve says, lowering the gun at the same time. 

Bucky makes a furious, frustrated sound at the back of his throat and Steve raises the gun back up, pointing it straight at his chest. 

“Promise me, Steve,” he commands, and it’s been almost a month since he used that voice on Steve, but it still works, just like it always does, here in this new life they’ve made together.

Steve swallows, and nods. It takes a few more seconds for him to get out, “I promise, Buck,” but as soon as he says it, Bucky turns the can over, and reads the word.

Hummus. 

Such an odd little word. Like anything, if you repeat it enough times, it starts to sound like nonsense, and it turns out reading a word over and over does the same thing. Hummus. It starts to seem totally absurd, laughable, by the fifth time he’s read it.

Hummus.

Stupid little word. Only six goddamn letters. 

He reads the rest of the recipe. So simple. So few ingredients. He’s had chickpeas in a couple different ways now, in curries and made into patties that Steve deep fried, and they were delicious. This hummus thing actually sounds pretty good too.

He holds out the can to Steve. “Can we make this?”

Steve stares at him, blank look slowly giving way to something dangerously close to hysteria, weird little hiccuping chuckles escaping his lips and then through his fingers as Steve slaps a hand over his mouth, trying to contain the emotions spilling out. Bucky puts the can down to go hug him.

He takes the gun from Steve’s hands and puts it beside the chickpeas. Steve hugs him back, and this time his laughter doesn’t turn into tears. He just holds on, and Bucky lets him.


End file.
